The Man Who Sold the World
by Mersgath
Summary: 1984 and DCI Gene Hunt is all alone on this job, but he now starts to wonder why he is still doing this. Now he starts to wonder about his past and starts to reflect and try to remember his past.
1. NA and a longer summary

_**Disclaimer:**_** I do not own **_**Life on Mars**_** or **_**Ashes to Ashes**_**. They are property of the BBC Corporation, Kudos and the creators and co-creators of this two series.**

_**Note from the Author:**_

**The Man W****ho Sold the World**

**We passed upon the stair, we spoke in was and when**

**Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend**

**Which came as a surprise, I spoke into his eyes**

**I thought you died alone, a long long time ago**

**Oh no, not me**

**We never lost control**

**You're face to face**

**With The Man Who Sold The World**

**I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home**

**I searched for a foreign land, for years and years I roamed**

**I gazed a gazeless stare, we walked a million hills**

**I must have died alone, a long long time ago**

**Who knows? Not me**

**I never lost control**

**You're face to face**

**With the Man who Sold the World**

**Who knows? Not me**

**We never lost control**

**You're face to face**

**With the Man who Sold the World**

**- By David Bowie, 1970**

**Take notice of the song – I just took randomly from a list of David Bowie songs, but I'm trying to take meaning from it and incorporating it into the story (something I'm really bad at…).**

**This story I'm doing and trying to make for you fanfic readers is a sequel to **_**Ashes to Ashes**_** called after David Bowie's song **_**The man who sold the world**_**. I know it's a bit stupid to do something like this, but I really didn't want Gene Hunt to just stop the show all sad and all that… He deserves a medal for helping people into the afterlife!**

_**Summary:**_** 1984 and DCI Gene Hunt is all alone on this job, but he now starts to wonder why he is still doing this: he is having difficulty with the new comer who died in 2009 and came to this year into Gene Hunt's department, he can't get his life back into hand and he can't stop thinking about Alex, gone forever. Now he starts to wonder about his past and starts to reflect and try to remember his past.**


	2. There's always someone that understands

_**Disclaimer: **_**Life on Mars and Ashes to Ashes and their original characters are Kudos's property.**

_**Note from the Author:**_** I can claim that The Man Who Sold the World is my property, including some characters… :) but excepting some original characters you'll see – including Gene Hunt – and story idea.**

**Hope you do enjoy this series… and sorry if I'm really slow updating any chapters for three reasons: ideas don't come that quickly to me, I may not have enough inspiration and… I don't have the time… I have too many stories to think of, and I can't stop posting new stories without finishing the ones beforehand… I just need to get my ideas out of my head and post them out on fanfic… 'cause if I don't I'll get depressed…**

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He

_**was**__ a good man._

_Yes, he was._

_And no one__** could**__ or __**should **__deny that._

...

She turns away from him. She wants so bad to turn back to him, stay there with him, but she has to go. She must go.

_..._

_He was hard to understand._

_Even though,_

_At times you wished to do so,_

_It__** was**__ hard._

...

She closes her eyes letting the pain drown her in thoughts. She has to go. She must go. And she has to let him go.

_..._

_Because_

_No one_

_Had gone_

_Through what __**he**__ had._

...

Her whole life there starts to flash before her. She smiles to herself. Maybe what she had been told about life flashing before you as you died_ was_ true.

_..._

_Sometimes I wish I __**could **__understand_

_Or at least hear other people's thoughts._

_Everyone's wondered sometime._

_But no one can understand_

_No one really __**can ever**__ understand_

_What you feel_

_Because it's been __**your **__experience_

_And no one else's._

_They could __**never**__ understand._

...

She opens her eyes her vision filled with the picture of what could have been a life with him, in there forever. She has to let that go, forever.

_..._

_Maybe I was wrong on that part._

_Maybe I wasn't then __**that**__ smart._

_Maybe I still needed some time_

_To believe that it __**wasn't**__ true._

_That there's always someone who __**does**__ understand._

_There's always someone that understands._

_There's always someone that understands._

_There's always someone that understands._

...

She hesitates in front of the door: it's the end. She's got to go without him. He'll be staying there, because he wants to help other people, like he helped her. She would never forget him. In fact she would be always waiting for him, just from the moment she would go through that closed door.

_..._

_There's __**always**__ someone that understands._

...

She quickly opens the door and entered, before the urge of turning around came again. She can't let go of him. She loves him.

...

And that was the last time it was seen from DI Alex Drake.

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Review for virtual… sweets! Updating as soon as I can


	3. 1984, back again in CID

Episode One, Part One

_**Disclaimer:**_** the idea I'm using in this story is not my property, as its original idea came from Ashley and Matthew for Kudos. The character Gene Hunt and several others that may appear in this story are not my property.**

**I have deleted one of my stories because too many people had the same idea of that same story and because I couldn't think of its continuity – I want to cry so much… It's like killing one of your children… but I had to. There wasn't any point on continuing it anyways…**

**Struggling a lot with writing some stuff… and reading Harry Potter too… I'm not very much of a good reader… so I really get lazy from reading. But I'll get there.**

**I want feedback, from you people. From the mad fanfic of **_**Stuck**_** by **_**TimeladyoftheHunt **_**and **_**xArtemisx**_** I learnt that by saying you will give virtual… food to the readers they will happily review, so… everyone…**

**VIRTUAL COOKIES FOR REVIEWS!**

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One year later…

A screech around the corner as the Porsche 944 turned a corner and hit the brakes just in front of a building. As the sun rays were reflected from the smooth black metal walls of the car, the doors from either side of it opened at the same time to reveal two men. They both glimpsed at the building before rushing inside it with the swollen pride of two lions. They passed by the corridors in a blur until they got to their destination. They stopped. A door in front of them stood with the sign reading: LAWYER ALLAN ROTHFIELD.

The tallest of them two looked at the other man, his face showing nothing but serious intentions. The other man brushed his orange hair with impatience and annoyance to his boss' sudden look at him and got his revolver out from his beige jacket. So did his boss and both of them, in unison, kicked the door open, pointing their guns at a bold man sitting at a desk talking to a young woman with a mousy hair. The man remained calm and didn't resist as the red headed man cuffed his hands. The tall man stood tall showing his superiority with great smugness.

"Mr. Rothfield," the tall man said, holding his gun at him. Rothfield looked at the man impassively. "In the name of law I am taking you into custody for suspicion of murder and massacre."

As the red headed man started to walk Rothfield out of the room followed by the tall man, the mousy haired woman stood up with desperation.

"Who do you think you are to take him just like that?" she demanded. "Do you even have any evidence?"

The tall man stopped and walked back to her. "I am Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt, the Manc Lion to you. And if you skirt start to question my authority on this you better watch your knickers next time you see me."

And with that, DCI Gene Hunt walked out of the room leaving the woman alone.

* * *

The double doors slammed open as DCI Hunt and DI Fields rushed Rothfield into the corridors of Fenchurch East. Gene pointed at a PC on the corridors.

"You: take this man to the Interview Room," he ordered.

The PC got the man off the officers' hands and walked away from them. Gene Hunt straightened his beige camel coat.

"Right we need to get everything out of that man," his companion told him. "He's a lawyer: he'll know how to talk his way out of this."

"Don't talk to me like I'm in primary school," Gene retorted. "I know how a bloody lawyer is like, the bastards."

"Whatever you do, don't get in the way of my questioning him." Fields stopped walking as they arrived in front of the CID entrance. "He's my fate."

Gene looked at him confusedly. "Finally you're out and admitting you're gay in public, then."

Fields gave him a look, ignoring Hunt's comment. "I don't want you to get in my way. I know how to get results myself."

Gene looked up thoughtfully until finally replying. "Make my day."

He pushed the double doors open and shot himself towards his office. DC's started to come up to him.

"I've got some results from the forensics, Guv," a man with a fuzzy moustache said. "They said that she had been fed before being killed. Here are the papers for the contents of her stomach."

Gene took them without looking at the man.

"Guv," this time a man with mullet hairstyle, "a few phone calls came up this morning while you and boss were away. I think they were some family members from the victims. They didn't sound happy…"

Gene ignored him.

A blonde girl wearing huge earrings in high heels came up to Gene. "The PC from the front desk came to me and gave me this file about the DS, Guv."

"Why would I want to have that, WDC Charles?" Gene asked irritated and absentmindedly.

The girl shook her monstrous fuzzy hair (an I'm-closer-to-god-than-you hairstyle) and replied: "The transfer you asked for, which apparently you needed to give BJ company for."

Gene stopped in front of his desk as they entered his office. "I never said that."

"You told me last week that I had to call up headquarters and ask for the transfer," she repeated bothersome.

Gene let a big breath out. "I thought you'd be too clever to think I meant that, Smart Alec."

"You were really serious about it."

"Oh, give me that." Gene snatched the papers from WDC Cath Meghan Charles and placed them on top of a mess of a desk with the forensic result papers.

Cath shook her head as if thinking her self too smart for all this and walked out of the office with the stride of a conceited horse.

Gene really got annoyed of her: she was still young and was very pretty, but she could be a pain in the arse at times – that is: all the time – as she would always try to outsmart other people, successfully; she was also a bit of a lazy bum, as she would get other people to do stuff for her, successfully too, as she had been raised by a very wealthy family. Most of the time Gene would just sit there with the rest of the team as she talked all the way through about how the sun couldn't possibly come up from the west. But she was crucial to the team, as she was a key police officer and also a genius – and that was why she had also chosen to be a police officer.

What she didn't know was that he knew more about her than she did, like how come when she flirted with men she became suddenly too defensive, which she didn't understand herself. He knew how she died. But then again he would know how everyone else in his CID had died. It was he's job to make them accept their deaths. No other option but to keep doing so and… well, that.

He was dead himself. He understood very well, but couldn't go onwards to the heavenly pub as he wanted to help other people to go on there. But these days… it seemed to have been so hard… He knew how it went: the guy would come out of the blue, he would play dumb to what happened to them and then they would figure out themselves what was really happening, then he would accept their death and let Gene take them down the pub and Gene would always forget about them afterwards. But not Alex Drake.

He pursed his lips and shut his eyes tightly, trying to drive that thought away. But no: everyday, every hour, every minute, every second he would think of her, and nothing else. There hadn't been anything else in that world that mattered, but since she left…

Someone knocked the door. Gene turned to the open door of his office and saw Fields standing there with displeasure.

"What do you want?" snapped Gene.

Fields folded his arms and started to walk around his office. He looked around the room: a mess. Bottles of beer lay around every corner of the room, the paper bin looked as if it hadn't been emptied for ages, the desk was full of unorganised, mixed up piles of papers and it looked as if no one had cleaned the room up for millennia or so. Fields looked at Gene's drawer, where a banana peel hanged on the edge.

"Like my office?" asked Gene, annoyed at Fields for entering the room and stare at it with that stinking stupid look he always gave him.

Fields stopped walking and turned to Gene. "I'm sick of this," he barked.

Gene sniffed, closing one eye and scratching his head. "I beg your pardon."

"You don't mean that," Fields said, rolling his eyes.

"Course I don't."

Fields rolled his eyes once more before snapping at him again. "I just don't get you. I don't get how you're doing this."

"Doing what?"

"I was here, just… a year ago. That's a long time now. Why do you keep going on like this and how are you able to keep with this game still? For a whole year?"

Gene heard a DC outside the office say: "Oh, Lord, boss is giving the sermon to Guv again…"

Suddenly something rang. The same DC – the mullet haired DC – reached inside his jacket for a big white plastic box that had a long antenna sticking out of it and placed it beside his ear.

"Hey, babe?" he retorted at the mobile phone.

"I'll tell you what I mean," Fields said as he got out of the office and grabbed the mobile phone from the DC, who started to complain.

"I was in the year 2009. There isn't this idiotic type of mobile phones in my year." Fields continued as he raised the mobile phone up and pointed at it, as Gene leaned at his office's doorframe. "There's an Apple i-Phone. And a laptop. And a mad sports car. Get me?"

Fields slammed the mobile phone on a DC's desk. He pointed at himself. "I am the DCI in this station. What did you do? Did you bull around overnight so that Craig could pull this stupid joke on me to make me really believe that I have gone back in time?" He waited for Gene to reply, but he just stood there bored. "Well," he continued ignoring Gene's pout, "it's not working. He can get his heavy ass off his office and come here to tell off the joke and apologize immediately. Or if it's better for him, I'll apologize for having the rank of a DCI and for having better control on the job."

Fields waited again for a reply. Finally, Gene inhaled and straightened his back to say: "Who's Craig?"

Fields started laughing sarcastically. He clapped his hands. "You know, I give up. You're just a scumbag."

"I'm a Bobby," Gene snapped back infuriated.

"I'm the Bobby too, and you know what Bobbies do?" Fields stepped towards Gene threateningly. "They get rid of scumbags."

Gene looked like he was going to blow up. The DC's in the CID lowered their heads, knowing what was coming next. Gene closed his eyes and let a deep breath out he didn't know he was holding.

"This is 1984 now, flamer," Gene said. "Got a problem with that?"

The DI narrowed his eyes with danger in them. "Just with your big bum and stupid calendar reminder, scum."

"I've had enough." Gene Hunt grabbed the police officer by his collar and they both engaged into a fight.

* * *

DCI Gene Hunt and DI Jeff Fields sat down at Luigi's bar all bruised and bleeding. Luigi looked at them both, not with surprise but with that look people gave you when they knew you had been up to no good.

"A scotch," they both said in unison, and Luigi went to grab them a drink.

Fields started to tend at his bloodied bottom lip and his black eye as Gene stretched his muscles and cracked a few bones. He didn't bother tending his own wounds. He had enough scars already to make him not mind any other ones. Luigi came back with two bottles. Fields cracked it open and drank the contents in one go. Gene hesitated at his first sip with disgust.

"What's this?" he asked indignantly.

Luigi leaned towards Gene. "It's called coke," he said with his Italian accent. "If you're gonna ask for a drink here all you get is coke, because I don't want another of your fights to ruin my restaurant.

"He told you," Fields laughed, imitating Luigi's accent mockingly.

Gene looked over at Fields, who drank his coke vigorously. Luigi rolled his eyes.

"I wasn't talking only to him," Luigi replied. "And I'll be waiting for the £10 you still owe me."

Fields stopped drinking and pushed away his drink. Gene pointed at him.

"He told you," Gene repeated.

"You too, Señor Hunt," Luigi said pointing at him.

"He told you," Fields repeated standing up and walking away from Luigi's Trattoria.

Gosh, how he hated Fields! He was so annoying and… annoying! He was the most self-centred, self-important and any self- horrendous adjective there could ever be. To tell the truth, Gene couldn't really bother to help this particular guy on to the pub. That guy was just so convinced that this was just a bad joke and that it would be over soon by the time he found Craig. Craig would never appear. Not in a few years time, that is.

This guy was the most difficult guy he had ever had to work with, not even Sam could win over this guy's same annoyance he had for Sam. At least Sam was a good-hearted person and he likened to include other people in the team, like Annie, who even though was a bird Gene respected her since Sam got her into the team back in Manchester. Not even Alex was as difficult as he was. Even though she was a tart… Alex…

For the first time in ages, he smiled to himself at the thought of her, but his face became sober as soon as. _She was gone forever_. He wouldn't forget that night, when he had to let her go on to the pub. He had hoped that maybe when she entered she would go back outside to him… Something had told him that she would go back for him… but she didn't. She stayed in there. It had been a false hope. He knew she wouldn't go back to him, but he had been wishing that… maybe…

He shook his head, pushed aside the thought and the coke, which had been in his hand for a long time now leaving his hand freezed. He stood up and walked to the exit, hesitating for a moment. He closed his eyes just for a moment, and could see Alex, the first and last time they had danced together in her apartment.

_There's nothing __left for you, Gene. She's gone. Just hide away from everything._

And then he walked away from the memory.

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*Just in case (Bobby is a nickname for coppers in the 80's just in case you have come across it and didn't get why I wrote it down there)

**Trade market offers virtual cookies for just review****s from you fanfic readers! Feedback and reviews very very very very welcome!**


	4. The man with the guts

Episode One, Part Two

_**Disclaimer:**_** the idea I'm using in this story is not my property, as its original idea came from Ashley and Matthew for Kudos. The character Gene Hunt and several others that may appear in this story are not my property.**

**I'm attempting to make a full eight-episode double-series with this story – like Life on Mars. If I don't get Gene Hunt's character right, someone tell me – because I am not really familiar with his personality back in Ashes to Ashes, I've only watched Life on Mars… – or if I don't get a good spirit into the chapters, give me feedback and… review! :)**

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It had been several minutes of wait and finally DCI Hunt and DI Fields entered the interview room. Allan Rothfield sat behind a desk with the patience of an animal watching its prey. Gene didn't like people who liked to look as superior as he was, and less did he like lawyers, with their looks of superiority: shoulders behind, chest out, head held high with their chins up and the look that they always gave you…

They sat opposite to Rothfield. Fields placed the tape recorder on the desk, placed the questioning papers in front of him with pens lined up at its side neatly. Gene rolled his eyes: Fields was too much of a neat freak. This was reminding him so much of Sam… Tyler…

Gene sat up on his chair clearing his throat, to which Fields looked at him with the same look he had given him early in the day when he tried to convince Gene to not get into his way on this moment. Fields leaned forward pressing the record button on the tape recorder.

"Interview commenced at 16:47 p.m. The suspect will state his name."

Fields looked at Rothfield expectantly, who didn't say anything. Gene rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat.

"Mr. Rothfield, I need you to give us your name," Fields said.

Rothfield didn't answer. Fields made an effort to contain his irritation. He leaned forward.

"OK, let's try again," he said.

But he was interrupted by the sudden screech of Gene's chair pushed back and Gene's hands slamming loudly the desk.

"I'm not taking this any longer, Rothfield," Gene said. "You gonna answer my pal's question here or do you want us to take it on the hard way?"

Rothfield was about to say something when Fields stood up grabbed Gene by the arm.

"A word 'pal'," Fields retorted, pulling Gene outside the interview room with him.

Once outside, Gene started his complaints.

"Why did you need us to get out of there?" he asked. "To stop the urge of kissing the man? I don't need to be grabbed by the arm to tell me that your gayness was kicking in."

"Do you know who the man inside there is?" asked Fields in a low voice.

"A fucking fag, that's what he is."

"He is a lawyer," Fields said. "If we do something against him he can bring it up in court."

"There isn't and won't ever be a court," Gene snapped. "We have no flipping evidence of his suspiciousness."

"Even so, you didn't need to act like such a scumbag."

"Say that again."

Fields ignored the last thing. "The man in there was trying our patience. When we go back in there I don't want you to get in between me and him."

"What you gonna do? Lay him up on court for our impatience?"

"Just don't do anything."

Fields opened the door and gave a look at Gene. Gene grunted.

"Whatever floats your boat," he finally said. "It was your gut-feeling that made us take him in, in the first place."

"I know what I'm doing," Fields coldly said and they both entered the interview room again.

Gene sat down on his chair grumpily, as Fields leaned forward towards Rothfield saying: "I apologize for my 'pal's' incompetence."

Gene looked up to his DI with an exasperated look.

Rothfield sat straight on his seat, and placed his fingertips together and his elbows on the desk.

"Just keep a good eye on him and make sure that your DCI doesn't' go up at me again," the lawyer said. "I wasn't the one who even asked for any of this… bigotry."

Gene tensed up. "I didn't ask for this 'bigotry' either," he said still looking up at his DI.

Fields sat down, rewound the tape and started recording again.

"Alright, Mr. Rothfield: when I ask anything to you I would appreciate if you answered back?" Fields told Rothfield, to which Gene coughed at. "Interview commenced at 16:49 p.m. The suspect will state his name."

Rothfield crossed his arms and leaned forward. "Allan James Rothfield."

"Also present are Detective Chief Inspector Hunt and Detective Inspector Fields." Fields took one of the papers and showed it to Rothfield: the files of a young man in his late teens. "Recognise this man?"

Rothfield leaned forward to look at the picture and then leaned back against his seat. "Never."

Fields raised his eyebrows. "Never?"

"Never."

Gene leant forwards. "Liar." Gene stood up and started to pace around the desk towards Rothfield. "Liar, liar, liar, liar." He leaned near Rothfield's ear. "Liar."

Fields closed his eyes in frustration. "Hunt."

"You know why you're a liar?" Gene yelled. "Because that kid was beaten up in the streets two nights ago and was on TV."

"I didn't watch TV this week, sir," Rothfield responded.

"Do you have witness to that?" Gene snapped.

"And again, I apologize for my mate's behaviour," Fields said, standing up and dragging Gene away from the suspect. "He has had a pretty rough day and needs rest."

Fields dragged Gene to the door and pushed him out of the room.

"You can't do that to me," Gene yelled.

"I can if my DCI is becoming too much of a scum to my suspect," Fields replied, slamming the door at him.

Gene tried to open the door and, suddenly, the sound of the lock, and the door wouldn't open. He slammed at the door, and no one answered.

"Bastard," he yelled and walked away.

It was quite surprising. From all the people he had ever had in his team, from all the most annoying people, Sam, Annie, Shaz and Alex – Chris and Ray had been just fine and obedient, most occasions – Fields was the only person who had the guts to kick him out of the interview room. He's own boss! He didn't seem to care what Gene thought about that. Maybe he figured he wouldn't – or couldn't – fire him or send him away anyways. Or maybe he still thought he was the DCI in CID and he wouldn't care about Gene because he couldn't fire a 'superior'.

Gene didn't even know why he was letting Fields humiliate him. Gene was supposed to fight back: kick the door when it was slammed at his face, yell back at his DI, get his fists on him. He was the man with the guts. Why wouldn't he do that? What was wrong with him? Ever since that night… the same night Fields came acting king of the jungle in his department, the same night he Jim Keats disappeared out of thin air; the same night… his team… Ray, Chris, Shaz… and Alex… had gone to the pub, everything started to go wrong.

He couldn't… just couldn't figure what was up with him. Everything seemed… different. It seemed so hard and… hard and… just hard. His life didn't seem the same since his last team went off. He had had people go of his team in his past, but it wasn't anything compared to this… farewell. For the first time in his life he had felt… appreciated. Maybe even l–… … well… let's just leave it with appreciated.

As he walked into CID he wondered if he would ever get out of that place. Would he ever go into the pub? But then if he did, what would happen to the people that died and went there? Would they be able to figure out where they were and about the pub? Of course they wouldn't. He was the only one who could understand the nature of that place. He had to stay and helped the rest of the dead cadavers left in that purgatory. It didn't matter how hard it was, he had to do it.

He stopped for a second and turned to the side to take a good look at a guy sitting on his desk with a couple of papers at hand.

"Oi," Gene called. The fellow looked up at his DCI, "what are you supposed to be?"

"Detective Sergeant Benjamin James," the young man responded.

"No," he said waving his hand at him, "I'm talking about what you are supposed to be."

Gene looked at him indifferently up and down. BJ looked at himself and shrugged at his paint splatter pants, his yellow electric neon jacket with a strap of black across the chest, his white sleeveless shirt and his fingerless gloves. Gene rolled his eyes and went on to his office.

That… BJ guy was too much of a youngster. He was always filling his department with new fashion trends and stupid new haircuts, which really annoyed him. Apart from the way he dressed and looked, Gene couldn't argue or get up to him: he was obedient and loyal to him – the first team member that actually showed very much of his respect towards him.

He didn't talk much, but Gene didn't know how he did it, but he was renowned around the whole of Fenchurch East building. Every single person knew him: guys would always greet him every morning, afternoon and evening; girls would get crazy to see him.

"Guv."

Gene turned around to see BJ at his door.

"You know the guy that was on TV two nights ago?" the DS asked. "The one that was beaten up?" Gene nodded. "And the girl with the cuts?" Gene nodded again. "Do you have their files?"

"I'm a bloody police, what do you think?" Gene responded as he started to browse through the piles of papers on his desk.

"Guv? Need any help there?" BJ asked looking over his DCI's shoulder.

"Do you think I need any?" Gene asked as he calmly looked through the papers.

"Should I take that as a yes?"

"You're taking it as a no." He lifted each page of each pile one by one, looking and looking. "I put it here somewhere…" He lifted one of the piles – no, not there – and he was starting to lose patience.

"I really need a 'Shaz'," Gene muttered under his breath.

"What was that, Guv?" BJ asked.

"Nothing," the Guv snapped.

"I don't really need the copies, Guv," BJ said, "I can get the original files and photocopy them again instead…"

"It's around here,' Gene snapped. "Paper don't walk."

Gene lifted the papers violently and then his impatience pushed the whole piles of paper to the floor in frustration. He wiped his face with one hand. BJ looked at his superior with concern.

Gene sat down on his chair. "Get the originals. Make sure I get another copy…"

BJ nodded and walked away from his office, leaving the Guv bereaved.

_You can't do this by yourself. You need someone to help you. You need someone to get you back up._

Gene stood up to the window looked outside.

_But that person is gone._

Gene's eyes started to swell up. Man! He was a man! His eyes weren't supposed to swell up. He didn't want anyone to see him…

_Hide. Then no one will see. Block the rest of the world. Don't let them in._

He closed the blinds of the windows.

* * *

He was so wrong… Too wrong. And it bothered him so much. He didn't want this to keep going, he wanted to go back to his old self. But every time he did, a little voice would tell him 'you're not supposed to move on, you should be miserable because Alex is gone'. He didn't want this. He couldn't take it.

Gene was pacing in thought as DI Fields entered in CID. He looked up at him, irritation filling his mind for a sudden moment. Fields was smiling.

"What? Did you get to boink Rothfield?" Gene asked out of sorts. Fields patted Gene's back happily, receiving a frown from Gene. "What's that for?"

"For being such a lame lousy scumbag," Fields laughed.

Gene just raised his eyebrows. "The man must have had a dildo: made the flamer get high on his heels."

Fields pointed at him. "You were wrong. So, so wrong!" he clapped his hands.

Gene shrugged. "So?"

"So?" Fields asked. "So, he told me what he had done on the night the beaten bloke died and he didn't do anything."

Gene looked at Fields impassively. "That made no flipping sense."

"He doesn't have any witnesses to say he didn't do it," Fields replied with a laugh.

Gene wiped his face again. "And what? You want to lay him up for having no witnesses? That won't work with the beak."

Fields rolled his eyes. "You always have to get everyone's black dog out, do you? He can be our killer!"

"Wait, wait, did you hear that?" Gene said, placing a hand at the side of his ear. "Do you want to know what it sounded like? It bloody sounded like a bloody hunch."

"We can lay him up if we show the jury the evidence of his doings," Fields said excitedly.

"Of course! What do you want to show the beak? We have no freaking evidence."

"Oh, but this proves something," Fields said.

"What?"

"That I can do the interview without you."

"You didn't even get anything from it."

"Oh, but he didn't have any witnesses to what he was doing that night. That's a first step. Next step is to get more information of his night two nights ago."

Gene didn't speak because he already knew that Fields would keep on trying to be right. He couldn't be bothered. Fields knew, by looking at Gene's face, that he had won this argument. He walked out of the room laughing in satisfaction.

Gene turned around and went again into his office as some DC's watching him with disquiet.

Fields liked to have the front, so why wouldn't he let him be? But the old Gene Hunt would have fought back: the old Gene Hunt would have never let any man that had the guts to mess up with the Manc Lion to have the satisfaction to have the front at his front.

The old Gene Hunt was _the _man with the guts. He would have snapped back, he would have gone with fists to him, he would have… it didn't matter… There wasn't any point on doing so. He was just a lame duck. No purpose on his being there.

Gene closed the door of his office, making the room dark and closed off from the world outside, a world that didn't even exist in reality. His blinds to his windows were down and he didn't turn on the lights. He wanted to hide in the dark from the rest of the world.

_Don't let anyone in._ Gene heard the little voice say. _Just hide away from everybody else. Just hide: it's the only thing you can do._

And he did.

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Waiting for more reviews and feedback – I need to get rid of all my virtual cookies!


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